


The Antlered Lion

by StarLight_Massacre



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Murder and Assassination Attempts, Character Death - Major and Minor, Child abuse/neglect, F/M, Hostage Situations and Abductions, M/M, Torture and Execution, Underaged Sex - Canon and Non-Canon, sacrificial suicide, slash and het
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29002782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarLight_Massacre/pseuds/StarLight_Massacre
Summary: Badly injured in the battle at Ashford, Robert Baratheon is forced to marry Cersei Lannister at Casterly Rock to secure the allegiance, and forces, of the Westerlands during the early stages of the rebellion, against the Targaryen rule. The ensuing pregnancy, and birth, of Harian Baratheon, will forever change the history of Westeros.In another reality, Harry James Potter takes matters into his own hands. Desperately lonely and fed up of a broken, post-war world, he completes a sacrificial ritual to send him to a new world. His interference changes the direction of Westeros, and its fate, as the dark night closes in and yet another war threatens. His presence in Westeros will change history...and the people around him as he once again stands up as a hero to the world.A life lived twice, for better or for worse, it matters not, for the price of cheating death is always a high price to pay.
Relationships: Balon Swann/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Daenerys Targaryen, Renly Baratheon/Loras Tyrell
Comments: 91
Kudos: 444
Collections: Harry Potter Crossovers, Not to be misplaced





	The Antlered Lion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sifshadowheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifshadowheart/gifts).



> Author: StarLight Massacre
> 
> Title: The Antlered Lion
> 
> Rating: M/Explicit
> 
> Warning: Slash. Het. Explicit language. Torture and violence. Mentions of rape/sexual assault/sexual violence. Murder and executions. Attempted murder and assassination attempts. Hostage situations. Character death – canon, major and minor. Child neglect/abuse. Sacrificial suicide. Underaged sex – canon and non-canon.
> 
> Pairing: Harry Potter/Balon Swann. Harry Potter/Daenerys Targaryen
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Harry Potter; all rights go to J. K. Rowling. I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire; all rights go to George R. R. Martin. I make no money for this piece of fictional writing and never will.
> 
> Dedication: For Sif Shadowheart, who is always willing to talk Game of Thrones with me, and walk through the weirdest plot ideas, and to help me torture poor Harry in whatever capacity the plot calls for. Thank you for all of my gift fics over the years, lovelie, it was definitely about time that I repaid the favour.
> 
> Summary: Badly injured in the battle at Ashford, Robert Baratheon is forced to marry Cersei Lannister at Casterly Rock to secure the allegiance, and forces, of the Westerlands during the early stages of the rebellion, against the Targaryen rule. The ensuing pregnancy, and birth, of Harian Baratheon, will forever change the history of Westeros.  
> In another reality, Harry James Potter takes matters into his own hands. Desperately lonely and fed up of a broken, post-war world, he completes a sacrificial ritual to send him to a new world. His interference changes the direction of Westeros, and its fate, as the dark night closes in and yet another war threatens. His presence in Westeros will change history...and the people around him as he once again stands up as a hero to the world.   
> A life lived twice, for better or for worse, it matters not, for the price of cheating death is always a high price to pay.
> 
> A/N: This is a teaser chapter, for my new fic The Antlered Lion. I currently have 31 chapters written, but this fic is far from finished. I wanted to post this first chapter to gauge interest and reaction, and because today is my birthday! I am 31 today, and this is my gift to my readers. The following chapters might take a while to come out, maybe later this year, or next year, as I don’t want to post anymore until I’ve finished the fic in its entirety, but this chapter is a special exception. I hope you like it, lovelies!
> 
> StarLight Massacre. X

The Antlered Lion

Being reborn wasn’t as easy as the books had made it seem. From the clinical words that had been written in all several dozen of those books that he’d read, all one did was complete the self-sacrificial ritual and die in one world and merely slip into a ‘spare’ body in a different world. Not one of those books had mentioned anything about being physically reborn, of entering a brand new body of an unborn baby while still in the womb.

Thankfully Harry remembered very little of his own time in utero, or his own rebirth, and most of what he did remember was limited to how _cold_ he’d been once he’d been born. It had chilled him all the way to his bones, a discomfort so great that he had only settled when he’d been placed in a bowl of lukewarm water, which had taken the edge from his chill, before he’d been wrapped in a warm blanket and allowed to go to sleep to recover from the ordeal.

He tried not to actively cast his mind back that far, however, as he had no wish to remember any of it, though thankfully the wet nurse who had given him suck as a babe had no longer been needed once he had been weaned, thus he didn’t have to see her around the Red Keep as a constant reminder of what he’d been through.

He was older now, two years old, but he knew things that no two year old should. He knew to be quiet, to watch and listen, and how to retain and use the information that he overheard. He knew to hide in the shadows, he understood what was being said around him, he knew things a forty year old man would know, as mentally, thanks to the ritual he had performed, he was now almost forty years old.

He knew that people found this behaviour strange, odd, he’d even heard the words queer and unnatural being thrown his way by people who believed he couldn’t understand them as a mere two year old toddler, but he had no care, they couldn’t possibly ever figure out the truth of his existence so he didn’t let it bother him.

Sometimes he was still surprised that the ritual had even worked at all, even if not in the way that he had originally interpreted it. He’d thought that he’d be going into a body like his old one, that of a thirty-six year old, or at the very least the body of an adult male. Finding out that he was in the body of a helpless newborn with his thirty-six year old mind had been rather… _distressing_ at the time, but he had adapted quickly and he’d come to realise that this way was better. This way he could be ‘odd’ right from the beginning, instead of taking over an adult body and having his mind, memories and personality completely change who that person had been and likely getting him killed, especially in this rather medieval world he’d landed in. The change would have been called everything from witchcraft to demon possession and he’d have been executed for it, he was sure. So despite how much he really didn’t like being unable to control his own limbs and functions, becoming a newborn again was by far the better way, even with as traumatic as it had been for him.

He had watched and observed everything, and everyone, from the very moment of his birth, though he could only really remember clearly the last year, maybe a little more, but the secrets of the Red Keep, of King’s Landing as a whole, were enough to puzzle even him, a thirty-eight year old in a two year old body.

There were so many plots and intrigues floating around, some of them even to do with him. It was from these little whispers, sitting and listening, that he’d found out that his own mother, Cersei Lannister, had tried to poison him twice, the first time while he was still in the womb (which Harry believed to be the point at which the real baby had died and he had taken over) and the second time just after his birth. He had taken a fever that had spiralled out of control, he had been shaking and convulsing, he had a clear memory of his mostly absent father, Robert Baratheon, (who he now knew had been away fighting a rebellion that had won himself a throne and Seven Kingdoms) holding him to a bare chest that was thick with black hair, looking down at him as if utterly lost, helpless and afraid, but so terribly angry. Harry remembered the shouting, yelling, even a crash of furniture being kicked over, but he could not recall any words, no matter how hard he tried.

After that night of being held in huge, strong hands, Harry’s magic had overcome the poison in his body, burning it off before it affected him overly much, and his fever had broken. It had taken him almost a turn after the fever had broken to fully recover. His mother had not dared try to poison him again after the first attempt had failed, not with so many people hovering around him, watching him so closely, and with a Maester constantly on hand and checking him every other hour. Or so she had whispered furiously to her twin brother, Harry’s uncle, Jaime, while they both believed him to be a mere baby, unable to comprehend, or remember, such words spoken above his head. He still remembered Jaime’s cold reply.

‘Just throw him down the stairs. No one need know, we could blame the wet nurse.’

That only hadn’t happened because his supposed mother had believed it too risky to pull off while her father was around, watching them closely. Harry had been wary of them both ever since. He whined when his mother picked him up, however rare that was, and the only time that Jaime had been asked to hold him he’d screamed so loudly and furiously that he’d vomited milk onto that pristine, polished armour. He’d been handed quickly to an older man, with a bald head, but thick, golden sideburns. He had amazing green eyes with gold flecks in them and Harry had quietened, just staring up at those captivating eyes. He had learned that that man had been Tywin Lannister, his maternal grandfather, who thankfully seemed to bear him no ill will, unlike his son and daughter, Harry’s own mother.

But regretfully Harry didn’t stay near Tywin for very long. Harry had been born in Casterly Rock, in secret, but Tywin had been away at war, his father had been away at war, though thankfully Jaime had only come for a fleeting, surreptitious visit to make sure his sister had survived the birth and then he had gone back to the capital, where his job was to guard the insane Targaryen king.

Shortly after Tywin had finally come home to Casterly Rock, when Harry was over a year old already and when the war was assumedly finished, Harry had been moved to a new home, King’s Landing, and there he found out the sorry state of affairs that was his mother and father.

It was incredibly sad to see the joke that was the parents he had been given in this world. Before, he had had parents who had loved him so much they had been willing to die for him. In this world he was barely acknowledged and they were actually trying to kill him. His mother purposefully and his father indirectly.

Looking upon the both sets, no matter how much it hurt him, he would have rathered Lily and James, his loving yet deceased parents. This sickening existence of perpetual loneliness while he actually had living parents, and extended family, all around him was somehow much worse.

His parents’ relationship was toxic. There was no other way to describe it. They hated one another, but this world reminded Harry of the Purebloods, where all that mattered was the family name and keeping the bloodlines pure, or rather ‘noble’ in this world. Thus nearly all the marriages between the great houses were political, and arranged between the lords of said houses, and this was the result. Two people who couldn’t stand one another, couldn’t stand him, and in one way or another were trying to co-exist in the same city, in the same keep, while one of them tried to rule Seven Kingdoms and the other tried to manipulate her own will into things. All because they had been matched together for a political alliance that had come about because of a rebellion against the previous royal family, the Targaryens, who were now all but extinct. Murdered down to just two remaining members, Viserys and Daenerys, the former just a child of eight, and the latter a mere babe.

Harry was ridiculously left to his own devices. If he had been an actual toddler he could have died a dozen times over, though he believed that to actually be the point in his mother’s cold eyes. His father was always absent. If he was not drinking, he was whoring, if not that then he was hunting or off visiting other castles and keeps all over the realm. He’d only just come back to the capital from a visit to his maternal uncles and cousins, the Estermonts. He’d taken his wife, and all seven members of his Kingsguard to Estermont with him, but Harry had been left behind in the Red Keep as no one had cared to remember him. He could have been a servant boy, or a street rat for all they cared, yet being alone in the Red Keep, left alone to his own devices, it was familiar to him already and it wasn’t much different from his everyday routine as it was. Harry very rarely saw his father, and he believed that to suit Robert Baratheon just fine.

“My Prince.”

Harry blinked and looked over his shoulder to the grey robed Maester. He sighed and turned, walking over to the man, Maester Mellciter.

“Do you want a lesson, my Prince?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, Maester.” He replied easily.

The Maester nodded and led the way to the royal solar, where Harry would learn his histories and great houses. It would be best if he learnt everything that he could, but that didn’t stop it from being boring. History was certainly not his favourite subject, in either world it seemed.

The Maester spread a map of the entire of Westeros, the continent that Harry now lived on, over the large table and Harry sat on a chair beside him.

Harry had actually stolen one of these large maps a little less than a year ago, when he had just turned two, as he wanted to know every inch of the land he now lived in. He kept it in his bed chambers, and at night he set to memorising the regions, the capitals, every road and river, every little town and village of this new continent. He was truly thirty-eight years old, and it was not that difficult a task for him, though surely impossible for a real two year old.

“Sunspear.” The Maester started their lesson, sitting next to him and pointing out the city on the map.

“Dorne. Seat of house Martell. The current ruling lord is Prince Doran Martell. His heir is Princess Arianne Martell, because in Dorne the oldest child, regardless of gender, rules. Which is overall, a much better way of doing things.” He opined.

“Their words?” Maester Mellciter prompted.

“Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken.” Harry repeated dutifully.

“Good, my Prince. Highgarden.” He said, pointing out another city on the map. Harry didn’t tell him that he was pointing to the wrong city, in the wrong region, as he wasn’t supposed to be able to read yet.

“The Reach. Seat of house Tyrell. The current ruling lord is Mace Tyrell, though everyone knows it is his mother, Olenna, who really rules. His heir is Willas Tyrell. Their words are Growing Strong.”

Maester Mellciter just stared at him. Harry looked back patiently. The Maester swallowed at the look in those young, determined eyes. The older man broke eye contact first and looked back the map and pointed again. “Winterfell.” It was again the wrong place, though it was at least in the right region this time.

“The North. Seat of house Stark. The current ruling lord is Eddard Stark. His heir is Robb Stark. Their words are Winter is Coming.”

“Dragonstone.” The Maester said next, actually pointing to the right place this time, as Harry knew where Dragonstone was. On a clear day you could just about see it across Blackwater Bay from the Red Keep. It only took three days to reach it on a ship and the Dragonmont, the active volcano on Dragonstone, was nearly always visible on the skyline.

“The Crownlands. Seat of house Baratheon. The current ruling lord is uncle Stannis, even though he should be ruling Storm’s End, but father doesn’t like him, so he sent him away to Dragonstone instead. Ours is the Fury.” He said, saying the house words that had been drilled into him from the moment that he had been born…he was a Baratheon, and heir apparent to the Iron Throne.

The Maester just stared at him, as if they hadn’t been through this a thousand times already. The best thing about being thirty-eight in a two year old body was that no matter what he said, people just brushed it off, even learned men like Maester Mellciter. It was sometimes the worst thing, if he felt that he had something important to say, but his own parents didn’t listen to him, so who else would? That was made much worse by his parents being the king and queen too, as everyone took a leaf from their book in an effort to please them, so almost everyone ignored him and pretended that he hadn’t even spoken to them.

Harry actually couldn’t imagine himself ignoring or stomping on a two year old child just to kiss the arse of someone else, not even a king or queen. They’d all be sorry when he was the king, because he was perfectly capable of remembering their words, and actions towards him, and they wouldn’t get away with trying to suck up to him then, not after how they’d treated him as a child.

His, rather short, lesson wrapped up and Harry went to the kitchens to harass the kitchen staff into giving him something to eat. Sometimes this was the only way he got to eat, as he wasn’t given a place at the table. His mother refused to eat with him and his father was never here, or never willing to interrupt his fun to take a meal with his only legitimate child. It was only ever at feasts and celebrations that he ever sat with his parents, and he had learnt to eat quickly there, as his mother ordered him to be taken to bed early, so he barely interacted with them at all. On such rare occasions the harsh order was the only acknowledgement his mother gave him for weeks at a time. For all the notice his father took of him he could have been a footstool as he drank heavily, ate unendingly and groped the poor serving girls like a wild animal who couldn’t control his lusts.

“Are you hungry, my Prince?” The kitchen woman asked him, smiling kindly down at him as he tugged on her apron.

Harry smiled back and nodded his head, his messy jet black hair bouncing. He liked the servants and kitchen staff, between them and Maester Mellciter, it was the only human interaction he ever got around here.

He ate the simple meal and drank the cup of water given to him before he was free to do whatever he wanted. No one would tell him otherwise. The servants were polite and sometimes kind to him, but they gave him a wide berth as he was still a prince. A prince who would one day be their king. The guards noticed him, but didn’t dare leave their posts. On the rare occasions that he passed a member of the Kingsguard, depending on who it was he sometimes got a sad smile, perhaps a warning to be safe and careful, or just a disinterested glance. They had no orders to look after him, nor to stop him if they saw him, so they didn’t, not even if he was doing something dangerous that could potentially lead to his death. The only one who had ever intervened was Ser Barristan Selmy and that was very rare, as usually the Lord Commander was firmly by the side of his father.

Harry was unchallenged, unchecked and allowed to essentially run wild and do as he pleased with no guidance, no discipline, no consequences. That sort of unrestrained freedom could have had huge detrimental effects upon him, had he not been a thirty-eight year old man trapped in such a tiny body.

“Harian.”

Harry turned curiously. Only a few people called him by his name, and not ‘my prince’ after all. He saw his stern faced uncle Stannis stood staring at him, who despite being only twenty years old behaved more like a miserly, joyless old man who had too many aches.

Harry ran down the corridor to him, stopping by his legs and beaming up at him, holding his hands in front of him, to stop himself from reaching out to hug his own uncle, as apparently such body contact was frowned on in this world, but he couldn’t help bouncing on his feet in excitement as a family member actually acknowledged him.

“Uncle Stannis, you’ve come to visit from Dragonstone? Father isn’t here, he went away. I heard it mentioned that he’s hunting in the Kingswood.”

“I am here for some business with the small council. Why are you out here on your own, where is your nursemaid? Your sworn shield?”

Harry blinked innocently. “My what?” He intoned curiously, though he knew exactly what Stannis was saying. As the crown prince, and the only legitimate child of the king currently, he should have had a guard with him at all times, day and night, to keep him safe, and a nursemaid to look after all of his needs as a two year old toddler.

Stannis’ stern blue eyes narrowed. “You do have a nursemaid and a sworn shield, do you not?”

Harry shook his head. “I am always on my own, Uncle.”

“Are you taking your lessons?” Stannis demanded.

Harry nodded. “I take my lessons with Maester Mellciter.”

“Not with Grand Maester Pycelle?”

“Mother says Grand Maester Pycelle is too busy to bother with me.” He replied tonelessly.

“And where is your mother?”

Harry shrugged a tiny, narrow shoulder. “I haven’t seen her in a few days.”

Those eyes narrowed further, into furious slits. “A few days?”

“Three or four.” Harry nodded.

“Your father?”

“I haven’t seen him in longer, Uncle. A turn or more.”

Those blue eyes studied him, looking at his haphazard clothing and the rather skinny body underneath.

“Are you eating?”

Harry nodded. “I go to the kitchens when I am hungry. The kitchen servants always give me food and water, Uncle.”

“Who dressed you this morning?”

Harry looked down at himself then, taking in his dirty, twisted clothes. “I dressed myself, Uncle. If…if I wear tunics and leggings I can get them on and off by myself, but the ties on all my jerkins, breeches and doublets are too hard.”

Harry purposefully wore his tunics back to front, and one of the legs of his leggings was bunched up and twisted at the knee. He was barefooted.

“Where are your boots?”

“They’re too small for my feet, Uncle. They don’t fit anymore and it hurts to wear them.”

“So you are running around like an orphan from Flea Bottom? Is that how a prince should conduct himself?”

Harry’s shoulders slumped. What had he expected, truly? Sometimes he thought that perhaps his father’s brothers, Stannis and Renly, were the only family members who even liked him. Then they said such things to him and reminded him of the truth. He had more family than he could have possibly dreamed of when he was back in his other world, but not one of them loved him, or even liked him.

“No, Uncle.” He said softly.

“I will have you fitted for new boots while I am here. I will speak to your mother about her duty of care towards you.”

It was a sad thing when caring for your own child was considered to be a duty, and not something that one did automatically.

“What have you learnt in your lessons?” Stannis demanded brusquely.

“I learnt how to write ‘Baratheon’ the other day!” He said happily. Of course he knew how to read and write just fine, but he had to play a little bit with pretending to learn all over again.

Stannis scoffed. “I would expect a two year old to be able to spell all the names of the great houses and be able to write their words. You are three.”

That disheartened Harry even more and he lapsed into silence, staring at his dirty toes on the stone floor.

“I’m not three yet.” He corrected his uncle quietly. His name day wasn’t for another two months.

The truth of the matter was Harry was sure his mother had only hired Mellciter to make a play at teaching him, to cover her own back if anyone asked, because it was expected that he had a Maester to teach him. He was learning a lot about the Seven Kingdoms, of the histories, but not really anything of substance. He believed that Mellciter was, on his mother’s orders, holding him back purposefully. Likely so he was uneducated and came across as an idiot to others. Thankfully he was very well educated, it was just hard to judge sometimes how much he should know as an almost three year old to how much he actually did know as a thirty-eight year old.

Stannis sighed impatiently and placed a hand on his head and used it to steer him. Harry thought it would have been easier if Stannis had just picked him up and carried him as he trotted beside his tall, long-legged uncle, who didn’t even try to slow down his steps to accommodate him, but of course, they were back to the no body contact situation. It was almost like everyone feared disease so much that no one was willing to touch one another.

“My Lord Stannis, you are expected in the small council chambers.” A steward told him, hurrying over to them, barely taking any notice of Harry down on the floor.

“Very well. See the prince safely to his rooms.”

Harry sighed and allowed the steward, who was too afraid to even lay one finger on him, to escort him to Maegor’s Holdfast and back to his chambers. It was boring in the room. He had no toys, no books, just a chair and a bed. He hoped his uncle Stannis came to see him after his council meeting, and saw just what he had condemned him to by sending him to his room.

Alone, of course, and out of the public eye, he sat in his large, adult sized chair that he had to climb to reach the seat, and he closed his eyes. He searched for his magic and smiled as the familiar warmth welled inside him. This was all he had to entertain himself with, and he had little control over what his magic manifested as while his body was so young, but he swore he would get better. He would regain control once he was older, and he would master his magic and his body. He knew how to do it, but while he was in the body of a two year old, there was little that he could do.

Sparks flared around him, and he focused as hard as he could on changing the colour of them, from red, to blue, to black, to gold, and all the colourful lights made him smile. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He was getting better at bending his magic to his will and in this place, in this world, that could only be a good thing.

Stannis did not come to his room, no one did, and Harry was left desolate and hungry as the sun set behind his window. He forced his arms to tug off his leggings and tunic, he washed himself with the bowl of icy water, before he slipped into the loose sleeping tunic. He crawled into his bed and pulled the covers over himself, tucking himself in. He fell asleep considering his desperate wishes in his past life, he’d been so very wrong back then, the greatest thing in the world was not a family after all.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

A servant woke him the next morning, bustling into his room carrying a bowl of water and forcing him up and out of bed, wiping his face for him with warm water from the bowl and then dressing him properly, in clean leggings and a doublet that showed the crowned stag of house Baratheon. The man tied the lacings up properly and Harry knew he would never get out of it on his own. He knew how to do it, but his fingers were too small and uncooperative, thus he had yet to master lacing up his own clothes or boots.

At least Stannis had actually remembered his promise, which was more than anyone else had done for him. The servant had brought brand new leather boots with him and he was dressed in those too. His hair was combed and brushed, though it was still wild and all over the place, as usual.

He was taken up to a tower in the Holdfast, to the royal solar and sat with his mother. She ignored him, even under Stannis’ stern gaze. He helped himself to food, sticking mostly with bread and honey and fruit. He tried not to let the tense atmosphere affect him. He reminded himself that he was thirty-eight years old truly.

“Sit properly.” She barked at him. “Remember your courtesies.”

Harry wondered if this was another ploy to starve him of food, as he sat properly and his nose barely reached the table. He sent a look to Stannis, before he looked at his hands in his lap.

“The boy cannot reach his food.” Stannis said sternly.

“I will not allow him to sit on his knees like some sort of savage.”

Stannis stood up, he went to the soft chairs behind the small, intimate table, and he picked up two cushions. He came back and he lifted Harry with his other arm and stacked the two cushions one on top of the other before nestling Harry back onto the chair. With the two cushions he was boosted high enough to reach the table.

“Was that such a difficult solution that you could not think of it yourself?” Stannis demanded, retaking his seat.

“How long are you staying, did you say, Stannis?” Cersei Lannister asked in a play at sweet politeness, but there was venom in her words.

She was such a hard, bitter woman for just nineteen years old. Harry was trying to figure out why, but he had so little interaction with his own mother that he had yet to figure out what was the root cause of her attitude. He knew that her mother, his grandmother, Joanna, had died in childbirth when she was only seven. He knew that she hated Robert Baratheon, her own husband, but though he could understand that, as the girls in this time had no choice in who they married, he didn’t understand why that was spreading to him. Was he not also a part of her? Was he not also her son? Why did the hate she had for her husband pass down to him also? Enough so that she was trying to murder him, her own son, her only child.

“As long as is needed.” Stannis replied to her curtly.

Harry resumed eating, but the tension only grew and it was off putting. It was tying his stomach in knots.

“When Robert comes back from his hunt…” Cersei threatened, but she was cut off sharply.

“I will tell him what I told you last night.” Stannis interrupted.

“How we raise our son…”

“You aren’t raising him at all!” Stannis thundered. “The boy is left on his own, he’s dim-witted and underfed! I found him running around the keep, on his own, barefooted and dirty. I almost mistook him for a street urchin come begging for kitchen scraps.”

Harry ducked his head and huddled up in his own shoulders. It was always the same, the moment he let himself believe that someone cared for him, that a family member loved him, they dashed his hopes and brought him crashing back down to reality with a cruel, barbed comment.

Cersei Lannister breathed out deeply and seemed to decide on simply ignoring Stannis. She ate her own meal, sipped her breakfast wine, and refused to be drawn into conversation with her good-brother. Harry remained silent.

It was the most awkward meal he’d been a part of yet, and he was almost glad to be free of both her and Stannis after he’d broken his fast. He ran off and hid from them both, as he was sure his uncle had some more plans for him, as he clearly found him so very lacking compared to his own ridiculously high standards. He already felt sorry for any children that Stannis would have in the future, and actually hoped that he never had any.

Harry entertained himself for the morning, and into the afternoon too, by playing with the new litter of little kittens that the kitchen cat had had recently. They were all so adorable and they liked to crawl all over him and lick at his face and fingers.

Harry loved animals. The people around him might have changed so drastically, but animals usually stayed the same. Cats acted like cats, dogs acted like dogs, thus Harry spent considerable amounts of time with the animals of the Red Keep. The kitchen cats, the hunting dogs in the kennels, the ravens in the Rookery, even the numerous rats running around everywhere knew that he wouldn’t hurt them, and came to him because he sometimes fed them small crumbs of bread.

He enjoyed going to the stables too, to see all the royal horses. There was a groom there who was kind to him, and would pick him up and sit him on the backs of the horses to get him used to the height, and the feel of them, as he would be expected to ride a horse by himself. It was a necessity in these times, as horses were the main mode of transport. Harry had asked to learn to ride properly, some several months ago, but the old stablemaster had overheard, and had forbidden it until it had been run past the king. It had taken him four months to even get an audience with the small council to ask for their permission to ask the king. It was to Harry’s understanding that his father had been so disinterested that he’d refused to interrupt his fun with a whore to even answer the small council’s request on the stablemaster’s behalf, and had instead left the decision up to his Hand, Lord Jon Arryn. The elderly Hand had agreed to Harry receiving instruction, but had charged the old stablemaster with Harry’s care while riding, so if anything at all happened to him, it would be the stablemaster’s fault. Thus the old man hovered over him, correcting his feet and hands, and the old, sturdiest and sure footed pony in the stable was led around a paddock in the outer yard of the Red Keep by a groom, while the stablemaster walked beside the horse and kept a tight grip around Harry’s belt, which was also buckled to the saddle.

Harry was enjoying his riding lessons, as it gave him some human interaction, while teaching him a needed skill, and he also got to cuddle and stroke the horses too. He hadn’t fallen or injured himself yet, and he found that his small, gentle hands and soft crooning meant that he could tame even the moodiest of stallions, though he knew when to give them space and quiet, which likely helped and why the horses liked his visits so much. That and he snuck them apples he’d taken from the kitchens when the grooms weren’t looking.

It was impossible to miss his father’s return to the Red Keep later that same day, as loud as he was Harry heard him bellowing from across the courtyard. Harry gave the kittens a last stroke and several last kisses and rushed to meet his father, hoping he was in a good mood after his hunting trip, but he really wished that he hadn’t bothered and had stayed hidden with the kittens instead. He should have known, he should not have let himself keep hoping for love, affection, or even praise from his family members. Not when they barely acknowledged his existence. No one here loved him, or cared what happened to him, and that was the sad truth.

“Father!” He called out, running across the stone floor to the group of people all wearing their hunting greens.

The hunting party, including his young uncle Renly, who had been picked up from Storm’s End and brought to King’s Landing for a visit, all seven members of the Kingsguard, several other men and lords who had been invited to go hunting with his father, and now apparently half of the small council too, including his uncle Stannis, turned and looked at him hurrying over on his tiny legs, beaming happily.

“There he is!” Robert bellowed, but he was talking to the other men, not to him. “See him, my fucking son?”

Harry’s smile slipped from his face as the men all laughed mockingly, obviously sharing some secret jape at his expense. It seemed they had been talking about him before he’d arrived. Maybe he’d been the main topic of conversation, the main source of scorn and belittlement, while they were off hunting too. Harry wondered how that was, when his father spent so little time with him that they were virtual strangers to one another. Harry was sure that if he weren’t the only little boy running around the Red Keep that his father wouldn’t even be able to recognise him as his own child. Robert Baratheon knew nothing about him, so how did he know enough to make jokes or belittle him? Perhaps it didn’t matter to the king, and all he cared about was getting cheap laughs at his own son’s expense, whether they were true or not.

“Weak, small, stupid, and more a girl than half the maidens of the realm.” His father said, sneering down at a tiny Harry.

The men all laughed loudly, derisively, even his young uncle Renly. The only ones not laughing were Stannis and one of the Kingsguard, the Lord Commander, Ser Barristan Selmy.

Harry was picked up in huge, rough hands, feeling more like a doll as he was cradled like a baby against a huge chest. He stayed still out of fear, he could smell the sour wine on his father and he could see the wine stains on his doublet. A drunken Robert Baratheon was unpredictable and dangerous, and Harry knew all too well that he was vulnerable in this tiny, two year old body.

“And now Stannis tells me he’s half feral too. Is that the right of it, boy?” His father boomed directly into his face, holding him out from his body so that he could see him properly.

“I’m not feral.” He said, but it made everyone laugh, as if he had told the greatest joke any of them had ever heard.

“See, Stannis? He’s not feral.” Robert told his brother loudly.

“He will be king one day, Robert. He needs to be taught and groomed to the position.” Stannis insisted.

“Oh, he’s fine! I was never _groomed_ to the position” Robert waved off. “Here.”

The next Harry knew he was airborne. He couldn’t believe his father had thrown him at his uncle. Only his father was still strong, as drunk as he was, and Harry sailed straight past Stannis, who had at least made an attempt to catch him, the shock clear on his face, but he missed, and Harry hit the stone floor with a sharp, loud crack that reverberated through the now silent hall. He’d used his arm to keep his head from smashing into the stone, an arm that snapped like a brittle twig under the force of his body landing on it.

The pain threatened tears, but Harry held them in with all his stubborn will as he tried to catch his breath from his winded lungs. For several moments he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t suck in air, and no one helped him. No one even moved towards him. He finally managed to suck in a great, gasping breath in the deathly silent hall. He wondered if those men all thought that he had died from the impact before that moment.

He caught his breath over several desperate, ragged gasps and pushed himself to sit up with the arm that wasn’t spreading hot fire through his body. The men around him all looked shocked and pale as he stared back at them, but not one of them had come to him. No one said a word about what his drunken father had done. No one would, he realised. Not a single one of those men had come to help him, to check that he was even still alive, not even his own uncles, and that more than anything frightened him. His father could kill him so easily, and no one would say a word about it. No one would hold him accountable for his actions because he was the king. They might whisper that he was a child killer behind his back, call him names, perhaps even laugh that he’d stupidly killed his only child and future successor in a drunken accident, but if he chose to murder Harry, or even killed him by accident as he almost had in that hall, there would be no accountability, no punishment, and no justice for a murdered two year old boy, the king’s own son.

Harry forced himself to get up to his feet and without a word he ran off, trying to hold the arm he suspected was broken as still as he could, as the pain of it moving made him feel sick. He ran to the quiet godswood as no one ever came here, which made it an ideal hiding place. He found a large bush near the heart tree and he crawled under it to hide, and under his bush, away from people, he finally allowed himself to cry.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Stannis stared at the door his nephew had run through in shock. A shock which was so profound that he found himself unable to move his tongue, or his limbs, as he was frozen to the spot, unmoving and silent, a cold horror spreading through him like ice, which had numbed his senses and his thoughts.

He slowly turned towards Robert and he caught sight of the shocked, disgusted faces of those Robert had taken hunting with him, all of them frozen and silent as he had been after witnessing such a horrific, abhorrent act. So horrifying had it been that none of them knew how to react, or what to do now in the aftermath. Even the Kingsguard were numbed and rendered inactive with shock. This could never happen again.

“What have you done?” He asked of his brother, finally finding his tongue.

“Shouldn’t have done it.” Robert mumbled. “It wasn’t kingly.”

“Kingly?” Little eight year old Renly demanded, his face for once not soft and smiling, but hard and shocked. “It wasn’t kingly or fatherly! Seven hells, Robert, Harian’s only two. He’s a baby, and you could have killed him!”

“He got up.” Robert blustered. “He’s fine.”

“That arm is broken.” Stannis said, cold fury on his face. “If he hadn’t had the wits to break his fall with that arm, it would have been his head. He needs tending to.”

“Send a servant to get him. Pycelle, see to him when he arrives.” Robert ordered before calling for more wine.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Renly demanded.

“Don’t start with me, boy!” Robert raged.

His older brother’s hand on his arm stopped Renly from replying and he blew out a harsh breath. The distraction came in the form of the queen, that Lannister bitch, walking into the great hall.

She was dressed impeccably, in a gown of green and gold, her hair done up in elegant knots on the top of her head. There was an emerald tiara lodged in all of that styled hair.

“Why are you bellowing, my love?” She asked calmly, coldly.

“Where is the boy?”

“Harian?” She queried.

“Do we have another son running about the place?” Robert roared at her.

“I don’t know where he is.” She replied.

“Seven hells.” Robert cursed, sitting heavily in a chair and gulping his wine.

“The prince was…injured.” Ser Barristan told the queen carefully.

“Injured? Injured how?” She asked.

No one answered, they all just looked at one another. How could you accuse the king of breaking the arm of his only son?

“Injured how?” Cersei demanded sternly.

“His Grace threw the boy.” Jaime Lannister, the queen’s brother, told her.

“Threw him?” The queen blinked. “Did you throw our son, Robert?”

“I forgot how far I could throw him. I threw him too damn hard and he hit the floor.” Robert said without even looking at them, taking another deep drink of wine.

“Where is he now?”

“He ran off.”

“So he is still alive.”

Renly didn’t know if he heard disappointment in her voice or not. He felt sorry for his nephew, so sorry for the boy. He couldn’t have been born of two worse people.

“He is still alive, though I suspect his arm is broken.” Jaime said to his sister, when no one else spoke up.

“I’m pregnant.” Cersei announced to them all, but staring at the back of Robert’s head.

If she had expected anything from His Grace, she was a fool. Robert just called for more wine and drank even more deeply.

“Your Grace, we cannot find Prince Harian.” A servant hurried into the room to say. He had to duck His Grace’s wine cup.

“Are you all fools?!” Robert roared. “He is a two year old boy! Go and check his room, he is likely in his bed.”

“We have checked, Your Grace.” The man cowered. “He is not in his room.”

“Damn you all to the seven hells. Selmy! Take your brothers and find him.”

“He will come back when he is hungry.” Cersei announced. “There is no need for the Kingsguard to be wasted on such a task.”

The Kingsguard listened only to the king, however, and they hurried out of the great hall to find the missing two year old prince.

An hour they searched, with no luck, and a castle wide search was called, and all of the servants and guards and gold cloaks joined the search with the Kingsguard. The Red Keep had been shut up after the king had arrived, they knew that he was somewhere within the Red Keep, but it was a big keep to search and Harian was a very small boy, and the night was coming.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry had bandaged up his arm as best as he could with torn strips of his own doublet as he hid under his bush. The pain of tying the strips of cloth around his broken arm had almost made him scream, but he remembered, distantly, the pain of the Cruciatus curse, and he found the strength to carry on his task. He refused to cry out as he used his strong hand and his teeth to tie the cloth tightly. His hand throbbed on the end of the broken bone.

He had heard far off shouts and calls for him, but he was not feeling in a very sociable mood, so he never answered. He had curled up, his broken arm protectively on his chest, and he’d gone to sleep in the silent godswood. It had been cold, and the grass despite being soft, had nothing on a feather mattress, but still he refused to come out.

The early morning sun had woken him when a shaft of light had fallen right into his eyes through the leaves of his bush. He could still hear people tromping around in armour, likely still looking for him. He was hungry though, and thirsty, and in pain. So when a closer voice called out suddenly, surprising him from his drowsy awakening, he thought it best to reveal himself

He crawled from under the bush, ignoring that he was now damp from the morning dew, and he stood up as well as he could while he felt so wobbly and unstable. His legs were asleep from spending the cold night in the godswood and he was shaking in pain, and it was likely that shock had set in by now. It was Ser Barristan who had come to find him, and Harry was thankful. Some of the Kingsguard scared him, Mandon Moore and Meryn Trant in particular.

Ser Barristan must have heard him make a noise, as he spun around, his hand automatically going for his sword. He touched the pommel, but he never drew the blade, seeing Harry stood pitifully before him, small and skinny, now in damp, dirty clothes and a ripped doublet, the strips of which were tied haphazardly around his injured arm, pale and shaking.

“My Prince.” The knight said in palpable relief. “We have been looking for you all night.”

Harry said nothing. He had nothing to say to these people anymore. Ser Barristan stooped as if to pick him up, but Harry shied away from him. No more. No one else would ever lift him again after what had happened.

Ser Barristan paused, and tried again to pick him up, but after he shied away again, he stood fully and held out his hand. Harry blinked huge eyes up at him, but turned away and walked on his own. He wouldn’t hold hands anymore either…not that anyone had ever held his hand before in this life.

The knight fell into step beside him. On a day before this event it might have amused him to see how small Ser Barristan had to make his steps to keep up with him, but he was in too much pain to find amusement in anything right now.

He didn’t realise how weak he had become, however, and while trying to navigate his small, trembling legs over the serpentine steps, he lost his balance and he fell. He was only saved by Ser Barristan, who had been alert and waiting for such a thing to happen, and the knight caught him quickly and swept him up into his strong arms and refused to let him down again, even when Harry cringed away from him with a scared whimper.

“Hush, my little Prince. Everything will be well.”

“It won’t. Nothing is fine.” He said angrily, staring up at the old knight with sad eyes.

Harry was carried past the great hall, and from there to the small council chambers, which was bustling with people.

“Your Grace.” Ser Barristan called out.

“Thank the gods! Where was he?” Harry heard his father ask.

“In the godswood.” Barristan answered and Harry was laid oh so gently on his back, on the council table.

Old, withered hands touched him and Harry knew it would be Pycelle.

“He is very cold.” Pycelle announced.

“He was in the godswood all night, of course he’s cold!” Came the sharp rebuke from his uncle Stannis.

“He has tried to bind his own arm.” Barristan pointed out.

Pycelle touched the arm and Harry’s eyes snapped open and he forced himself upright, moving away from the Grand Maester.

“Easy, boy.”

Harry flinched and cowered as his father reached for him, throwing his good arm over his head to protect it. An automatic gesture that Harry had learnt from the Dursleys, which had now been reawakened in his new life. His father hesitated only briefly, before soldiering on and holding Harry in his arms, though he didn’t lift him from the table. For once he seemed sober, which meant he wasn’t a threat to him at the moment, so Harry slowly put his arm down and stopped his cowering, he remained alert however, for any sudden movement which had him flinching and shying away.

When Pycelle approached Harry turned to put his face in his father’s chest, holding onto him. Robert Baratheon didn’t seem to know what to do, but some sort of instinct told him to hold the boy closer, so he did. One hand rose to cup the back of the delicate, fragile head, only to realise that his hand was bigger and could pillow that head perfectly. A head that he had almost smashed in on the stone floor yesterday. Robert swallowed uneasily and held the boy close and perhaps seeing his son for the first time since the terrible scare just after his birth, when he had taken a horrific fever that couldn’t be calmed. He had distanced himself after that, afraid of the rage he had felt within himself as he cradled his newly born son, so tiny in his hands, as he sat, useless and unable to help as a cherry-cheeked babe wailed and grew weak from sickness before his very eyes.

He had never wanted to feel like that again, so he had tried to keep away from his own son. No more, he swore, as he felt one tiny hand clench in his doublet, as the Grand Maester poked and probed the other. The arm that he had broken when he’d drunkenly thrown his small son to the stone floor.

“Is he well?” Jon Arryn inquired. He had been furious when he’d heard the tale of him throwing his only child in a drunken fit. His disappointment and ire had stung, as a father’s would, but then Robert had always seen Jon Arryn as a second father.

“The arm is broken and will need setting and proper binding.” Pycelle announced. “Hold him still, it will be painful.”

It wasn’t needed. Harry didn’t so much as wail as the broken bone was set and then bound up properly with clean strips of white linen. In other circumstances he might have allowed screams or tears, but under the gazes of so many men, who had all laughed and sneered at him just the day before, he refused to give them the satisfaction of hearing his pain.

“Well done, you brave little boy.” Uncle Renly praised him, patting his hair.

“He _is_ mine.” Robert boasted.

Harry hated them all. They fed him this little bit of hope, forced him to get his hopes up, and then they cruelly brought him back down again. By tomorrow this would all be forgotten and the barbed comments would come once more. But he still couldn’t help absorbing their words like a sponge. He was so affection starved that despite knowing it was all a lie, he still allowed their words to swell his heart.

Yesterday he had been weak and stupid and girlish. Today he was brave and like his father.

“Milk of the poppy, for the pain.” Pycelle told him, holding out the little bottle as if he expected a two year old to measure the proper dose and take the medicine himself.

Harry backhanded it from the Maester’s hand. He didn’t want to be poisoned again. Once had been enough and he knew well enough that poppy milk was an opiate. Any more than a quarter spoon of that stuff would surely kill him while he was this small, and he wouldn’t risk taking any of it.

The little glass bottle smashed on the floor and Harry turned back to snuggle into his father’s chest.

“Perhaps some food and water, and he can go to bed.” Stannis suggested.

Robert agreed and he sat in the nearest chair and pulled Harry onto his lap. Harry ate from there, boosted high enough to reach the table. He naturally favoured his right hand, not his bound up left.

His father helped him cut his meat, but Harry mostly picked at the plate, drained his cup of water and then rested back on his father’s body. If today was to be the only day he got to have this sort of contact, he would make the most of it.

Shortly after that he was carried to his bed chambers by his father and settled in his bed.

“I am sorry I did this to you.” Robert told him, likely believing Harry to be asleep. “Too much wine. It’s always too much wine.”

“You shouldn’t drink it.” Harry said, cracking open his big eyes to stare up at his father.

Robert looked at him and sighed. “Mayhaps I should give it up.”

“You could play with me instead of drinking.” Harry said. “I’d like someone to play with. I get bored on my own.”

His father looked around his room then. He seemed to realise how bare it was, how odd for a small child.

“Where are all your toys?”

“I don’t have any.” Harry replied simply.

“I must have given you some on your name days.”

Harry looked at his bedspread and shook his head. “No one gives me toys, or books. I don’t have anything to play with. That’s why uncle Stannis found me walking around the keep, I like playing with the cats.”

“He said you don’t have a sworn shield. Surely I must have given you one?”

Harry shook his head again. “I’m always alone.”

Robert inhaled deeply, swelling his already huge chest. He looked shaken.

“Get some rest now.” He said, standing and laying a hand on Harry’s head.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to do just that. Foolishly, he allowed his heart to rise, allowed hope to sink in. Perhaps things really would change from now on. He really should have known better.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

It lasted for less than a week. His father showered him in attention and praise, sat in on his lessons with Maester Mellciter, lessons which Harry noticed seemed to increase in difficulty, and accuracy, when his father was there observing. He filled his room with toys and books and assigned him a sworn shield too, an upcoming knight of the Stormlands (his father’s ancestral seat of power) named Balon Swann.

Harry didn’t know what to make of the almost teenaged Balon. He was not even twelve years old, exceptionally young to be a knight, as he was not yet of age and he’d only been a squire for a bare year before his knighthood, but apparently he had distinguished himself in some civil dispute and fought well beside the lord he had been squiring for, so he had been knighted so very young. But still, he was not really suited to being a sworn shield, because he was only eleven, and newly knighted too, but Harry supposed that as he never left the Red Keep, he would be well protected by Balon, as he was less a sworn shield at the moment and more of a glorified babysitter slash nursemaid. That would likely change as he grew, but being nine years older than him, Balon was in a good position to protect him when he was older. The forethought was odd for his Robert, and rather out of character. It made him wonder if his father had actually chosen Balon or if Stannis had maybe had an input in it.

But of course it didn’t last. At some feast for something or other his father went back to his old ways, he started drinking early, promising to have just a few cups, but soon he had forgotten all about that, and his promise to his son, and just a bare week after he’d made the promise, he forgot about it, and Harry hardened his heart against the pain of the betrayal.

He had lost his father once more to his wine and whores, but at least he was not as alone as he’d been before. Balon came to his rooms early every morning, helped him to clean up and dress and then proceeded to spend the day following him around wherever he went. It didn’t matter what Harry wanted to do, even if it was playing with the rapidly growing kittens, Ser Balon accompanied him and stood guard over him. Harry grew to like Balon and his stories of being a squire, of his life in Stonehelm, and the small ‘battle’ he’d been a part of that had led to him being knighted, which Harry had heard being spoken about around the keep, and that many people believed Balon’s knighthood to be premature, exaggerated, and undeserved too.

Harry became aware of his mother’s pregnancy some weeks after his night in the godswood, he hadn’t heard anything about it, which was odd considering the servants of the Red Keep liked to gossip about everything, but he saw her stroking her stomach, smiling at it, and he put two and two together and realised that she was pregnant. It was as if she loved the unborn baby already…in a way that she had never loved him. He didn’t understand why.

He kept closer to Balon, who told him that he hoped to be raised to the Kingsguard one day.

“I will be king one day.” Harry said with a smile, tipping his head back to look up at Balon. “I’d like you as a member of my Kingsguard.”

Balon grinned down at him, even though he was already on his knees behind him, he was still taller. He was teaching Harry how to use a wooden sword, and he was holding Harry’s hands over the smooth hilt and helping him to swing his hands.

“Do you think I’ll ever grow big enough for a greatsword?”

Balon hummed thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. A lot of men favour longswords over greatswords. The length and grip of a greatsword is too unwieldy, useful for executions, but not really in battle. They make a man’s swing slower, and as they are two-handed swords, you cannot have a shield, which brings its own dangers in a battle.”

“Most Valyrian swords are greatswords.” Harry lamented.

“Some of them are longswords, or even bastard swords.” Balon replied with a kind smile and a pat to the top of his head.

Harry grinned up at Balon and went back to his training. He was a little young to be training at swords, but truly, what else was he supposed to do with his time, especially when he had a newly knighted, young preteen for a guard?

“I want a Valyrian steel sword.” Harry said to Balon.

“Then you had best keep practising, my little Prince. If you want to be good enough to wield Valyrian steel.”

Harry giggled and went back to swinging the wooden sword with Balon’s help. He remembered Gryffindor’s sword, he remembered the untrained, wild swings and thrusts he’d used to kill the basilisk in the chamber of secrets. He remembered Neville killing Nagini with a desperate hacking motion, and then throwing the sword to him, so he could slash at the neck of a Death Eater. It was easy to kill a man who was good at magic, but had no experience blocking a blade, but against armoured knights in battle who had trained their entire lives to wield such weapons? He needed to do better than desperate hacking, frenzied slashes and wild thrusts. Much, much better.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Time passed slowly in Harry’s opinion, and now that his arm was healing most of his time was spent trying to find entertainment, with Balon as his new shadow. Harry introduced his new sworn shield to all his favourite things, mostly the silent godswood where Harry went to touch something green and wild in the Red Keep, all the animals that he liked, such as the hunting dogs, the cats and kittens, and the horses too. Balon had repaid him by teaching Harry swordsmanship and he’d started teaching him archery too. They had become fast friends over the two months they’d been together and Harry had finally found his first friend in this new life, even if Balon was much older than he was.

Harry’s third name day was mostly ignored. Balon had remembered, some others around the Red Keep wished him a good name day, but his mother didn’t acknowledge it or him. His father was still abed with several whores. His uncle Stannis had sent a raven to him from Dragonstone, that Grand Maester Pycelle had handed to him without reading it aloud, a cruelty in the man’s eyes as he didn’t realise that Harry could actually read, and uncle Renly (who had only arrived two days before from Storm’s End) patted him on the head and congratulated him on reaching his third name day before hurrying past him to go to his own lessons.

He put on a brave face for Balon, as they went to visit his kittens by the kitchen. He played with them for a bit, let them snuggle him as he kissed and petted them, before he went walking through the Red Keep, looking for entertainment, Balon a silent shadow behind him.

“…would you want to take him anywhere?” He heard his mother demand from behind a closed door and he stopped to listen.

“He is my grandson, Cersei. He has yet to leave the Red Keep, or so I am told. He will be coming to Casterly Rock with me. Stannis has informed me that…”

“Stannis has informed you? _Stannis_?! He isn’t fit to…”

“Stannis has informed me that you are doing a disservice to the boy’s education.” The stern voice of Tywin Lannister cut across his mother’s shriek. “If I find this to be true I want to know why, Cersei. That boy will be king one day.”

“That wretched little weakling will never be a king.” Cersei said and Harry took a step back from the venom in her words. Balon placed a comforting hand over his shoulder and laid it against his chest, pulling him back tight to the front of his own body.

“He is weak because you do not care for him as you should. Even now he is still begging the kitchen servants for his meals, instead of having them provided for him. He is not being cared for adequately and I want to know why, Cersei. He is young to be a page, only just three years old, but if that is the excuse I need to sell to remove him from King’s Landing, it is the one I will use.”

Tywin’s voice was like ice, hard and cold. Harry gave a look to Balon, who patted his hair gently.

“I am your sworn shield, by appointment of the king, I will be going with you.” Balon bent to whisper into his ear.

That reassured Harry somewhat, and he hurried past the door and went further into the Red Keep. Only when he believed himself to be far enough away did he speak.

“Everyone says that Tywin Lannister is hard and cruel.”

“He is hard, but I would not describe him as cruel. To him, his family is everything. He has a son the same age as me, Tyrion, your uncle.”

“I have another uncle?” Harry asked. “No one told me.”

“He’s a dwarf, my Prince.” Balon told him. “Any other man would have left the deformed babe out to die, but not Tywin Lannister. He doesn’t speak of Tyrion unless he’s asked about him, but he won’t abide men laughing at his son either. No one knows why Tywin kept Tyrion, but he did, when perhaps any other man would have exposed the babe, or even orchestrated an illness, or perhaps an accident, to kill the babe off. He won’t harm you.”

Harry bit his lip and carried on to the yard, where Balon set up an archery target for him. If he stood on a tall box, he could use a bow, with help. He was a very, very good shot. Balon was also very good at archery, so it made him happy that the prince he had been assigned to as a sworn shield was also good at archery. It gave them something in common.

It was here that Lord Tywin Lannister found them. He stood back and he watched silently as his grandson pulled back the bow with help from the eleven year old boy he’d been told was his grandson’s sworn shield.

“Are you aiming?”

“Yes.” The newly turned three year old answered. “The wind is blowing just slightly to the west, so I’m accommodating my aim.”

“I believe that you’re accommodating too much, but loose your arrow and we will see.”

Prince Harian took those words into consideration and took another moment to check his aim, brought his bow in just slightly, and then loosed the notched arrow. Tywin was surprised to see the arrow fly true and strike the target. Most boys didn’t get so good until they were seven or eight. He was proud to see that the arrow had struck close to the centre.

“Seven hells!” The young prince cursed, kicking his foot to scuff it over the box he was stood on.

“Do not lose heart, and watch your language.” His sworn shield chastised him.

“Father says it all the time.”

“That doesn’t mean that you should. Now, try again. You’re doing really well for your age. You can aim like no other I’ve ever met.”

Tiny Prince Harian selected another arrow and notched it over his finger guard, he drew back over his vambraces, with help from the other boy.

“Picture the centre of the target.” The older boy told him. “Feel the wind.”

The prince shifted the bow, aiming, he held for another paused moment, before he loosed the arrow. It did not hit dead centre, but it caught the centre marker this time.

“Much better.”

“When will I be big enough to try firing from the floor, Balon?”

“When you are actually taller than the bow, my Prince.” Balon answered with a smile. “Give it some more time.”

“Do you think I could try from horse back?”

“How are you doing with your pony?”

“I think I have the hang of it, but I’m left alone with the horses now, so I have no one to tell me how to do it, so I might be doing it wrong.”

Tywin inhaled angrily at hearing that dangerous little titbit and he stepped forward to make himself known. The boy, Balon, saw the movement from the corner of his eye and immediately went for his sword and had it half drawn before he’d turned. The boy had good reflexes at least.

“My Lord Lannister.” The boy sheathed the half drawn sword and bowed his head.

The prince had turned to look at him, and the blue eyes Tywin remembered from the babe he had once held in his arms were gone, and in their place was Lannister emerald. They looked wonderfully well matched with the Baratheon black hair.

“You’re my Lord Grandfather.” The Prince said, hopping down from the box he’d been stood on.

Tywin was dismayed to see how small he was at three. Stannis had not been inflating the issue, as his daughter had insisted. Then Tywin had known that all along, Stannis was not a man to exaggerate anything, it was why he had ridden immediately for King’s Landing upon receiving the raven, and its dire message, from Dragonstone.

“I am, my Prince.”

Prince Harian frowned at him. “I’m not a prince to you.” The little boy rebuked sharply.

“Are you not a prince to everyone?” Tywin asked him.

“Not to family.” The little boy insisted. “To family I’m Harry.”

“Harry?” Tywin queried.

The boy nodded. “I am Prince Harian. But to those I like I’m just Harry.”

“As you insist, Harry. Now, do you know why I am here?”

“To visit mother? She is going to have another baby soon, the servants say so.”

“It is your third name day.” Tywin prompted.

“No one ever visits me on my name days.” The prince told him matter-of-factly, wholly unconcerned that it was his own name day, usually a mark for celebration, or at the very least a feast. As the only prince of the realm he should have been showered with gifts from all over the Seven Kingdoms.

“Have you not been wished well?”

Harry smiled then and looked at his sworn shield.

“Balon wished me well, and the servants. Uncle Stannis sent a raven and uncle Renly wished me well as he walked past on his way to his morning lessons.”

“Your father?”

“He’s still abed, Grandfather.”

“Your mother?”

“I haven’t seen her in two days, Grandfather.”

“Why not?”

The prince bit his lip and held his silence. Stannis had been correct about that too then. Cersei was not caring for the boy.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t know why. She doesn’t like me being near her. She never has. I usually only see her in passing. She doesn’t like me.”

“Have you seen your uncle Jaime? Has he wished you well?”

“No. He doesn’t like me either. I haven’t seen him in about three turns.”

“Well, I have a gift for you, if you’d like it.”

“Really?” The boy’s face lit up and he hurried to him in excitement. “Only Balon gave me a gift.”

“Your sworn shield was the only one to give you a gift on your name day?”

Harian nodded as if it were normal and Tywin took a steadying breath. Things were much worse here in the capital than even Stannis had told him. It also meant that someone had kept back the gifts he had been sending to his own grandson, as the little boy clearly hadn’t received any of them. He would get to the bottom of that too, though after what he’d been told by Stannis and what he’d seen himself, he suspected that Cersei was behind it.

“Come with me.” He held his hand out, but he saw the boy flinch back quickly from it.

Crouching down in front of his tiny grandson, Tywin placed both hands on his shoulders.

“Has anyone ever struck you? Anyone?” He demanded. “As a prince you can have them punished for it.”

“A prince can’t punish the king.” Harian said with a sad smile at him.

“Your father hits you?”

“He didn’t hit me, he threw me across the room and I broke my arm. I haven’t liked people touching me since.”

“When was this?” Tywin demanded. He hadn’t heard anything at all about this instance. Stannis had not even mentioned it in the raven he had sent, and Tywin considered a broken arm on a two year old to be a very notable occurrence worthy of repeating.

“Two turns ago, Grandfather. Midway through the fifth moon. Grand Maester Pycelle said that the bone is healing well.”

The three year old pulled back his sleeve to show the tightly bound left arm to him.

“Take my hand, Harian. I will not hurt you.”

Harry did as asked, but he was more reassured when Balon followed him. Tywin, like Balon did, and Barristan Selmy had, took smaller steps to keep up with his pace, instead of forcing him to trot at their pace.

“I heard you mention that you were not being taught to ride.” Tywin said.

“I’m not really being taught anything, Grandfather. The grooms used to teach me, but they stopped and won’t tell me why, but neither do they stop me from taking a pony to practice on like they used to, so I’m now teaching myself to ride. Balon taught me archery, he corrects any mistakes I make, but no one else really cares what I do.”

“Your uncle Stannis informed me that you have free reign to do as you please.”

Harry nodded. “It’s better now that I have Balon, I’m not so bored.”

The three of them walked into Maegor’s Holdfast, where the royal family slept, and Harry was led to his room.

“Is my present in my room?” He asked curiously.

Tywin squeezed his hand gently.

“You are coming to Casterly Rock with me.”

“Really?” He asked. “I’ve never been outside of the Red Keep before. Not that I remember.” He added, knowing as he did that he had been born at Casterly Rock.

“I know. Now that you are three, you are coming to visit me. You need to pack some things.”

Harry nodded and when the door to his room was opened and he hurried inside the servants were already packing a large trunk with his clothing.

“Are there any toys that you particularly favour?” Tywin asked, looking at how many he had.

“Not really, they’re all new.”

“All of them?”

Harry nodded. “Father gave them to me when he broke my arm because he felt bad about it. I didn’t have any toys before that.”

He did run over to a shelf and take down three large books that he really wanted to read. He handed these to a servant to pack for him and he made sure his wooden sword and shield were packed, so he could practice with Balon.

“Is that all you wanted to take with you?” Tywin asked.

Harry nodded. “I will miss the kittens in the kitchen, but they’re already growing up and there will be more soon.”

“Come along then, let us say goodbye to your mother.”

“Must we?” Harry asked anxiously, fidgeting with his hands in front of his belly.

“It is only courteous.”

Harry nodded before turning to his sworn shield. “Balon, stay with me.”

“I will always be right behind you, my Prince.”

“Your mother won’t harm you.” Tywin insisted.

Harry looked at his grandfather, but looked down again quickly and said nothing. Those gold flecked green eyes narrowed slightly in calculation, but Tywin said nothing either, as he took Harry’s hand and followed to Harry’s steps easily.

They found the king and the queen at the large banquet table that was set for a feast. Harry wondered if his father had actually remembered his name day, but very soon he would learn to stop hoping, to stop opening himself up to such pain.

“We have laid a feast in your honour, Father. Won’t you stay a while?” Cersei asked.

“A feast for my honour? Just for coming to collect my grandson for a visit to Casterly Rock?”

“You are Lord Lannister.” She said proudly. “Any occasion you visit should be celebrated.”

“When it is your own son’s third name day?” Tywin asked.

“Seven hells!” Robert cursed. “Is that today?”

He lumbered to his feet and hurried away. Harry stared at the floor, finding the pattern in the stone to be very fascinating. He was tugged forward by Tywin and picked up and settled easily onto a chair with the customary two plump cushions that his uncle Stannis had implemented, so that he could see the table. Balon took up his position behind him, as he’d promised.

His grandfather chose to sit beside him, not his own daughter, and he helped Harry to cut his meat and watched him eat. Or rather he watched how much he ate.

“Father, I had not heard word that you were coming.” Ser Jaime said as he sauntered into the hall and took a place next to his sister.

“I did not believe I had to send word that I was visiting my own family.” Tywin answered curtly. He hadn’t wanted any preparations to be made that might mask the situation the prince was in after he’d received Stannis’ raven.

“He’s taking the boy to Casterly Rock.” Cersei told Jaime.

“That ‘boy’ is your own son.” Tywin cut in harshly. “You should not need a reminder that you are his mother.”

Cersei said nothing to the chastisement, and she fell silent. Harry’s appetite dwindled and he picked at his remaining food.

“Eat some more.” Tywin encouraged him. “You do not eat enough.”

Harry ate a bit more, but his stomach was tense and knotted, and he had to push his plate away. Tywin sighed, but at least he knew why Harian’s appetite was not as it should be. Tension and fear, and a desire to be away from his own family as quickly as possible. The boy needed to eat more if ever he was to grow.

“When do you leave?” Jaime asked.

“At dawn.” Tywin answered.

“That is far too soon.” Cersei announced. “At least stay and rest a while. It is three hundred leagues to Casterly Rock, and you have only just arrived.”

“It is two hundred and forty leagues, it will take us two weeks of travel, no more.” Tywin refuted. “The sooner Harian is away from you, and from the capital, the better.”

“Is he not safer here?” Jaime asked.

“No.” Tywin said shortly. “He will be better looked after in Casterly Rock, with me, where I can teach him all he needs to know to become king.”

There was silence at the top table, Harry wanted to sink through the floor. His father eventually came back, carrying what looked like a bundle of armour.

“Here, I had this commissioned just for you.” He said happily.

Harry slipped down from his chair and ducked under the table to reach his father quicker. He stood still as the armour, which did actually fit him, was placed on him. He grinned to see the black stag of house Baratheon on the breast plate.

“Today, you are three name days old.” His father announced. “I got my first armour at your age, of course you won’t be going into any battles, but it’ll help you gain strength when you are training at arms.”

“Thank you, Father. I love it.” Harry said.

“It is a proud moment in a father’s life to present his son with his first set of armour.” Robert Baratheon said, looking at him. “To see that sigil on your chest.”

“I always was fond of stags and lions.” Harry grinned with a secret smile.

Robert Baratheon cupped both of Harry’s cheeks before patting gently.

“Off with you now. I’ve heard you’re going to Casterly Rock, try not to come back with an attitude like your mother.”

“Like that would ever happen.” Harry scorned.

Robert Baratheon laughed loudly, but Harry could almost feel the daggers being thrown at him by his mother.

“Now, my love, mind your courtesies.” His mother said to him, in a mockery of care, but the venom in her voice negated her words.

“Shove your courtesies where you keep your manners.” Harry told her.

“Do not speak to your mother in such a way.” Jaime told him furiously. Harry was surprised, as that was the first thing Jaime had ever said to him directly. His uncle usually acted like Harry was invisible and didn’t exist.

“Shut up, Kingslayer.” Robert waved off. “My boy is feisty, is all. He gets that from me.”

“You should not encourage his attitude.” Cersei said.

“Oh, is that not kingly either? Shut up, woman.”

“I see I have interrupted yet another civil family dinner.” Renly announced as he came to the table. “Harian, I’m sorry to have had no time to speak with you earlier. Here, your name day gift.”

Harry took the box given to him by his youngest uncle, who was only five years older than he was, and he opened it. He drew out a magnificent cloak that was heavy gold velvet with the jet black stag of Baratheon on the back of it.

“I cheated.” Renly told him, ruffling his hair. “I knew your father was getting you armour, and every set of armour needs a good cloak to go with it.”

Renly took the cloak from him and attached it to the breast plate, sweeping it out behind him.

“There. Perfect length. You look like a proper little Baratheon now.”

Harry grinned and absorbed the positive attention.

“You might as well dress him in motley.” Cersei commented.

Robert seized Harry and hefted him up, new armour and all, making Harry squeak in surprise at the sudden movement. He had a feeling of déjà vu, as this had been how his arm had been broken, and he stilled in fear.

“Your poisonous influence is why he’s so small. Stannis asked to foster him on Dragonstone, then your own Lord Father asked to foster him at Casterly Rock. I don’t care which one, as long as he is away from _you_.”

Robert sat Harry on the table, and bent so they were more on a level.

“You learn all you can from your grandfather, you hear me? You prove this poisonous woman wrong.”

Harry nodded. “I will.”

“Good boy. Tywin, see him well treated and well educated, as it has proven impossible to do so from the Red Keep.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Tywin answered, having watched everything and listened to everything.

“I will come to visit you soon.” Robert told Harry.

“Your child will be born soon.” Cersei interrupted.

“I already have a child.” Robert snapped. “Try not to kill the other before I get back.”

“His fever was not my fault!”

Harry named the woman a liar in his head. He knew she had caused his fever with poison. A poison that had been meant to kill him, but hadn’t.

“If you had taken better care of him, as you’re meant to…”

“It was not my fault! You never cared for him either! Where were you when I laboured with him? Where were you when he took his fever? _Where were you_?!”

“I was at _war_! I was fighting for our freedom from that mad shit, Aerys!”

“You didn’t do it for freedom. You did it for your precious Lyanna!” His mother raged.

Harry saw his father’s face bleach of all colour, saw him swelling with terrible rage, and then Renly was there in front of him, he tugged him carefully from the table and started hurrying them both from the hall when it looked like Robert would leap over the table and throttle Cersei.

“Come, Harian. This isn’t for your eyes or ears, or mine.”

Renly escorted him from the room to the shouts and yelling of his parents, and Harry laced his fingers through his uncle’s, smiling sadly as Balon followed behind them.

He was being taken to his room, and once there Renly helped him take off the armour and the new cloak, getting him into a clean sleeping tunic and into bed.

“Do they really hate me so much?” Harry asked Renly softly.

Renly sighed and sat back down to look into the tiny face, with those huge green eyes. He considered what to say, how to say it. He was only eight himself, how could he tell a boy that his mother was a scheming bitch and his father a selfish sot?

“It’s not that they hate you, they hate each other.” He settled on saying.

“Political marriages are stupid.” Harry sneered.

“They strengthen allegiances between families.”

“How? If it only ends in fighting and cruelty, how can it strengthen or create an allegiance? It just creates a deeper trench of misery and loathing and both houses end up hating one another more, not less.”

Renly smiled. “The servants are right, you are like a little old Maester in that head of yours. You’ll do well with Tywin Lannister.” Renly said, before he sighed heavily. “I can’t tell you what you want to hear, Harian. Your mother does hate you, I don’t know why, but she never was a normal woman. Your father…he doesn’t hate you, he loves you, you’re his first and only son, but Robert should never have had children. He doesn’t know how to treat you. Your relationship with him should strengthen when you are older, when he knows how to treat you and what to say to you. Men he can deal with, children not so much.”

Harry nodded. “I figured that out for myself. I knew I couldn’t stay here though. I’ll be happier with grandfather. He will teach me everything I need to know and I’ll come back happier. Maybe I’ll even go to see uncle Stannis after I come back from Casterly Rock too. I just don’t want to be here.”

“On that point I really don’t blame you. If you need another port to call at, I will take you for a visit to Storm’s End too. I am always happier there.”

“I want to hunt with father too, in the Kingswood, when I am old enough.”

“He’d like that. He loves his hunting and sharing that with him will make him very proud. Now get some sleep. I will see that the servants pack your new armour to take with you.”

Harry watched his uncle Renly pick up the armour and leave his bedroom with Balon, who slept in the room next door to his, as was his right as Harry’s sworn shield.

Harry stayed on his back and thought about this new turn in his life. It was good, if it was real, but truly Tywin Lannister was his mother’s father, his uncle Jaime’s father, could he truly be trusted? He was the father of the two people who had spoken so coldly, so cruelly of his murder when he was a newborn. His mother had poisoned him by her own admission, with her own hands. His uncle had wanted to throw him down some stairs and blame his wet nurse. Could the father of both of them be trusted, or was he going to Casterly Rock just to have some unfortunate accident away from the eyes of his father and the court?

He would need to be on high alert, he would need to keep Balon with him at all times, and he would need to practice more at his battle training. That would include horse riding, archery, as well as with a sword and a shield. There was no way he could train with a spear while so young and short, not even with a box to help him like he used with his archery, but he needed to be able to protect himself in this world and that meant hard physical training with heavy weapons and armour.

It was just a damn shame he was too young to control his magic adequately. He would need to find a way to practice with it while at Casterly Rock. He needed to get better at so much, but he was just too young and too little. This was the worst part of being a thirty-eight year old in a child’s body…the long, horrendous wait for himself to age and grow. It was the one thing that couldn’t be sped up or rushed. He had to grow all over again and while he did, he was vulnerable and at constant risk.

“It could have been worse.” He whispered to himself. At least he still had his mind and his magic, if both had been denied to him when he’d done that ritual to be reborn…well, it would have been a very short second life for him.

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End file.
